Baby Fever and Mommy Rock

Copyrighted by Lorna Tedder. Originally published in Third Degree of Contrast.

Oh, man. I caught a whiff of baby fever today.

Attract Him Back

I had to take care of getting some documents notarized and into  the mail right away. The post office line was longer than during the week before Christmas and I didn’t get into the line right away because I had to package  some  paperwork  for  my  attorney  then  and  there. Meanwhile, the line of customers inched along.

The last to get in line was a woman with a tiny baby, about three months old. Just old enough to hold his head up and coo and fuss about the wait in that soft mewling that tiny babies make. The woman was  balancing baby, purse, cash, and keys. The sight of her on her feet for so long took me immediately back to when I used to hold my own babies at that age, though I felt the ache of memory in my bones. Shannon, after  all, was a very difficult birth, and it was many months after before I could stand for long  and embarrassing longer  than  anyone  I knew who’d had a C-section at the same time. With Aislinn, it was much easier.

“You were in line,” the woman told me as I took my place behind her. “You were here first.”

I insisted she go ahead of me. I knew mine would take much  longer  and  the  baby  was  fretful,  having  missed some of his nap.

We chatted in line as I watched the adorable little one cuddled  in  her  arms  with  his  cheek  against  her  chest. “Tree-frog position,” as I used to call it with my girls.

Watching him brought back so many memories, good ones.  It was  hard  at times,  yes, working  full-time  in a stressful job and being a mom, but still wonderful memories.

But the thing that most made me smile was watching this woman  do  the “Mommy Rock.” Completely oblivious to it, too. Standing there with her baby in her arms, rocking from side to side, jiggling the baby with her swaying as she whispered nonsense into his ear.

It reminded me of so many nights, of doctors’ offices,

of hallways outside of restaurants,  where I walked with my little one in  my arms, doing the Mommy Rock and singing some soft lull-a-bye from the 8th century, whispering into my  baby’s ear where no one else could hear the words or tune, sharing it just with her in a private moment between mother and child.


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